


everything hurts, but it hurts a little less with you

by treeprince



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Panic Attacks, cant believe we get a cottage one bed scenario and the apocalypse happens and ruins it all, jonathan sims just needs a hug and for someone to tell him he's not a failure, martin blackwood deserves boyfriend and avatar of the year award, post 160
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-07
Updated: 2019-11-07
Packaged: 2021-01-24 17:18:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21341869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/treeprince/pseuds/treeprince
Summary: The end of everything comes as perfunctory and expected as the sun rising.Which is to say, not like a sunrise at all, if it still rises.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 4
Kudos: 221





	everything hurts, but it hurts a little less with you

**Author's Note:**

> well i just rammed my way thru this series in like a week and immediately had to write something to cope, so have this
> 
> jonny sims turn on ur location i just wanna talk to u about _cows_

The end of everything comes as perfunctory and expected as the sun rising. 

Which is to say, not like a sunrise at all, if it still rises. 

The sounds outside of the cottage grate like broken glass, shifting and scraping at the boarded remains of the windows. There’s a harried static that rings in Jon’s ears no matter what he’s doing these days, not that it’s easy to tell what constitutes a ‘day’ now. Jon’s only sure the passage of time is still occuring somewhat _ naturally _ because Martin keeps to his own schedule in all the chaos.

He brings Jon tea every ‘morning’, and always asks if there’s anything else he can get for him, some toast or what’s left of their supply of biscuits. The bags Martin was running home with from the shop the day everything fell apart are all that remains of their food, not that either of them need to eat like humans do. He still fusses about in their tiny kitchen, taking stock of the remnants of what ties them to their previous lives. Re-organizes the pantry and writes down how much longer they can go before he needs to make a supply run. The implication that Martin is done with allowing Jon to leave the safety of their home goes unspoken but heard like a hammer striking a hot iron.

It’s the strangest part, Jon thinks, that despite the numbness that’s taken over him in the wake of Eli- ...Jonah’s ritual, he still feels _ human _. Not quite the way he did before, constantly wondering if he was or wasn’t. He doesn’t question it now, tired of feeling his appetite for answers going unresolved with a gnawing sense of worry. His skin itches every waking moment, but he won’t talk, won’t let his voice be used by someone else again. He keeps his responses to a minimum, grunts and nods or shakes his head. Martin understands. He always understood more than he let on. It’s their new language now, only known to the two of them. Jon hopes to keep it that way.

On the third ‘day’ of their confinement, Jon’s hunger has grown to such a height that he cannot hide the pain he is in. The way his hands shake as he reaches for the cup of tea Martin has brought him, almost knocking it over. The rattling of the cup on its plate is enough to alert Martin that something’s wrong, hovering over and around him like a mother hen, the same as how he used to back when worms were the biggest of their problems. It sparks a dry humorless laugh in him, thinking back on those days. How he didn’t notice the obvious signs of Martin’s affections, or how his own were starting to form, is a mystery for a different Jon. 

For someone who Knows everything now, it’s ironic how blind he was to the simplest of certainties.

Which is why it comes as no surprise when Martin takes the cup from his trembling hands, setting it down gently with a light _ clink _ onto the table. His hands are so much softer than Jon’s, a comfort he didn’t know he’d ever need or want, but is so grateful for in this moment. Jon was never very big on physical gestures, a product of a childhood spent escaping the material world for fantasies and history. The weight of them is so grounding that for just a second, Jon can forget everything outside. Close his eyes, and his Eye, and just be here.

The gnawing returns with a vengeance and he cries out in pain, his body convulsing as he tries to reel back the urge to Ask, to Know anything. Martin cries out in shock as Jon tips sideways from the agony, trying to curl into a ball on the sofa unsuccessfully while still gripping his hands. They fall down together, colliding to the floor in a pile of hard angles into soft edges. Martin’s groan of discomfort is glossed over as he quickly tries to right the both of them.

“Jon, are you alright?!” Martin looms over him, glancing over him surreptitiously for any bruises. Jon’s breathing is labored, holding in the answer so he doesn’t do what he so desperately needs to. He looks up, straining to convey meaning with his eyes alone. It must be enough, for without answering, Martin frantically wipes the sweat off his brow with the end of his sleeve. “Come on, let’s- let’s get you up on your feet.”

He gently coaxes the both of them off the floor, Jon clutching onto his arm as his legs almost give out under him. When he wavers, Martin is there, grip steady and firm, murmuring assurances. “It’s alright, I’ve got you, I’ve got you. Easy, easy does it.”

When Jon is situated as comfortably as one can be when wracked with hunger pains, Martin frets over him for the rest of the day. He knows what Jon cannot ask for, what he truly needs, and does his best to tell him things he’s seen today. It works, but without the compulsion, it barely sates him. It’s enough to at least take the edge off for a little while. He scratches at his throat while Martin rambles about the patch of garden out back, and how the pumpkins are surviving the apocalypse quite nicely. How the hastily thrown together shelter for their attempt at vegetables seems to be holding up, despite the…the everything going on. 

Two more days go by like this; Jon hardly moving for the ripping hunger at his insides, and Martin doing his best to ‘feed’ him whatever he can scrounge up from glimpses into the beyond, sometimes even what he Sees in the Lonely that still connects to him. He’s not the same kind of avatar that Peter was, but he can come and go as he pleases into the Lonely whenever he wishes. He doesn’t do it often, as leaving Jon alone scares him beyond any sort of fear outside their door. He hasn’t said it exactly, but Jon knows. Not, Knows, he just notices now. 

Martin gets antsy whenever he has to leave the room, much less the house for anything. Jon suspects he feels guilty for having left him alone the day it all happened, but Jon doesn’t blame him at all. There was nothing that could have tipped them off that something was wrong with the statements. They’d been in hiding for months at that point, gradually growing closer to one another, and letting their guard down in the process. 

Daisy’s hideout was clearly only meant for one person, somewhere she could lay low after succumbing to another Hunt. The awkwardness at first was manageable, if not completely embarrassing for both of them to trudge through. Jon offered to take the sofa for himself, let Martin have the single bed. The disappointment in Martin’s sagging shoulders made him retract the offer immediately. They’d begun sharing more than just bedspace after that first night. At first it was just lingering touches; a finger grazing too long at the kettle, or purposefully brushing up against each other in the kitchen. The fall into something more happened as easily as breathing. They thought they had all the time in the world to move onto anything more serious than kissing and fiery touches.

Jon wishes sometimes that he didn’t feel his mouth was the worst part of him now, because he misses the heated kisses, the furtive glances at freshly swollen lips. Martin holds him tighter whenever they sleep now, not that Jon gets much rest. His hands make wrinkled messes of all of Jon’s shirts, though he doesn’t complain. If Jon holds back like he’s holding onto a lifeline, Martin doesn’t comment on it. 

It feels… good, to be wanted. To be held on to so tightly for fear of letting go or simply disappearing. Jon’s given him enough reasons to run, Martin just won’t take the hint. He’s silently grateful that it seems like he never will.

It becomes… not easier, but more manageable with time. His skin still itches, but Martin’s endless streams of information keep the worst of the biting sensation away. His touches linger longer again, like they used to, and Jon finds himself unconsciously returning them more often. It’s harder to hide his own insecurities than it is for Martin to smother him in care and worry. 

Martin fills the silence as best he can, though it must hurt awfully to go unanswered. Jon feels the weight of guilt sink heavier into his bones (and has a funny thought about whether Jared can feel the guilt in the rib he took), an all encompassing feeling that sort of swallows up the Watching for seconds before resolving itself back into his veins. 

He was very good at locking the guilt away whenever Martin could see him -- which was almost always -- but about a week into their confinement, his mask slips.

He hadn’t even been doing anything different, sitting in his same old spot on the couch while Martin went through the same old routine of double checking the windows and doors were still secure. Through the cracks Jon could see the pale fog of the Lonely just outside the front step, eeking its way through the highlands and keeping them safe from the Eye (among many other things). Martin had been shrouding them in it for days, but it doesn’t lend itself well to confusing people as it does isolating them. They still hear scratching at the walls sometimes, as infrequently as it happens, and every time Martin focuses harder, has to lean a little further into the Lonely to make it go away. 

Jon is so tensed up when the sound of something _ sharp _ drags down the outside of the door, he actually makes a noise for the first time in a week. Just a small noise of surprise, but it’s enough to catch Martin’s attention, as well as the thing outside.

The growl outside their door could be Daisy for all he knows. Could be something else too, some other creature of the Hunt out to get them. It doesn’t matter what it is, it’s heard him. The thing on the other side is clawing at the door now, hands or paws shaking it as they pound and dig, trying to get through. Martin raises his voice for the first time since he found Jon on the floor that day. It’s only a single word.

“**_Leave._**”

All at once the scratching stops.

At the same moment, Jon has a panic attack, everything coming down on him all at once.

His breath caught in his throat, his chest seizes up, and the air trapped inside his lungs has nowhere to go. He’s got nowhere to run, the walls pressing him in until he can’t move, can’t breathe. There are things out there waiting to kill him and he’s shut away inside a coffin big enough for two and the people he cared about are probably long dead and the one person he wants to keep safe above all else is trapped in here with him and _ it’s all his fault _-

The words are tumbling out of his mouth without his permission.   
  


“It-It’s all my fault, Martin, I-I did this! I made the _ world _ this way- this, this mad _ thing _\- and now, and now-”

Martin runs over to him, his hands scrambling to pull Jon’s out of the thick wool blanket he’s wrapped in while the tears stream down his face.  
  


“Hey, shh- hey, hey. No, stop. Jon, Jon look at me.”

“I should never have asked you bring me those statements-”

“Jon, please, look at me.”

“-I’m so sorr-”

“**Jon.**”

He takes a shuddering breath and quiets down, finally focusing on Martin’s face. He’s only inches away but through the blur and the sadness it feels like yards.

“Listen to me Jon. There is nothing we could have done differently that day. Everything has gone to hell, true, but we’ll get through this. We just...just have to keep our heads high and think. I’ve been trying to contact Basira, but I don’t think phone lines or cell towers are going to be of any use for that, so I’ve been thinking...”

He pauses long enough that Jon gets out a few more hiccuping sobs, each one less dreadful than the last. Martin takes in a deep breath before continuing, his thumb sliding in soft circles on the back of Jon’s right hand. The glide over the uneven stretch of skin helps snap him further into the present.

“I..I was thinking, we could make a go of it. I don’t think Elia- uh, _ Jonah _, can see us in the Lonely. Otherwise he’d have already been knocking down our door right?” He lets out a breathy chuckle, then thinks better of it. “Right, so, i-if we do make our way out of here, I have a rough idea of how we can find her. Or get to a place where there’s still some signal left.”

Jon is silent for a moment, processing the idea of _ leaving _ this place that’s been their home for the past month. The cottage had been cozy and perfect for a young couple fresh into their relationship but stuck together as they are, Jon thinks it’s better they weren’t somewhere bigger with more people nearby. Leaving it though…

Jon’s voice now isn’t much more than a whisper, as if all the energy in him faded as quickly as the mania came on. As if someone else might come through if he speaks any louder.

“Are you absolutely sure? Do.. do you really think we stand a chance out there?”

Martin _hms_, his hair bouncing a bit as he shrugs. “Well, our chances aren’t much better in here without any help.” He pats Jon’s knee, and with a grunt stands up, pulling Jon along with him until he’s forced to stand up as well. “I know it hasn’t been easy for you. In fact, I’m sure it’s been hard to stop yourself from trying to Know everything that’s going on, but you can know this. Uh, lower case ‘know’ in case it wasn’t obvious.”

Jon rolls his eyes. “Yes, yes, go on.” 

Martin laughs, and it’s the most delightful sound Jon’s heard in what feels like forever. He wants to kick himself for being such an awful prat the past week when he could’ve been trying to come up with solutions and making corny jokes about Martin’s taste in farm animals.

“I just want you to know, no matter what happens, I’m not going anywhere without you. I kind of feel like, even if I _ wasn’t _ in love with you, I’d be a fool to let you out of my sight for even a second.”

Martin’s smile is tired, but shining underneath it and in the forefront of Jon’s mind is the truth behind it. It’s as simple as that, and Jon Knows now it always has been and always will be. 

He finally releases the tension he’s been holding onto for the last week in one shaky smile. Martin’s arms come up around his shoulders, and this time it’s Jon who’s crying into Martin’s shoulder after being ‘found’ again. He takes in a long breath of Martin’s scent, just holding him there in the silence, until he feels more like himself than he has in a long while. When he pulls back, he makes sure to hold one of Martin’s hands.

“Yes, I, I suppose I should let you know then that I’m equally as guilty of loving you. To my betterment, I’m afraid to say.” 

“Oh, yes, how awful for you.” The sarcasm is so welcome that Jon doesn’t tease him further. “We don’t have to leave right away, I still have some things I want to pack just in case it takes longer than expected to reach the Archives.”

Jon stills at that. The notion of going back there, where it all started, is… frightening.

“Do you think anything will be left that we can use to our advantage? Jonah is most definitely still in there, sitting in his Watchtower.”

Martin scratches at the end of his nose, pushing his glasses up out of reflex. “It’s not a great plan, but I figure, we can find them along the way and hopefully come up with something better in the meantime. I’m not exactly equipped to handle an apocalypse as it stands.” 

“Right, sorry, I-” he rubs his free hand down the leg of his pants, trying to wipe the sweat off his palm. “I didn’t think we’d be in any danger out here, so far from the center of everything.” 

“Jon, please. Stop apologizing for every little detail.” 

“Sorry-”

Martin levels him with a flat look.

“I’ll stop.” 

“Thank you.”

They stand awkwardly for a moment, gazing into each other’s eyes with fondness and exasperation. 

Martin leans up and with no hesitation kisses him. The moment their lips meet, Jon feels a giddy happiness bubble up inside him. It’s been gentle pecks and worried flutterings of lips into his hair all week, but they haven’t kissed since before the apocalypse happened. Jon almost forgot how wonderful it feels. 

They stay like that for a few more minutes, although it could have been hours. He’s not sure and it’s the only time he’s been glad to not care about the facts of something. Stopping feels horrible, but he knows he has to actually do something about the state of the world now. He’s put it off long enough with his sulking.

“R-right then, how soon do you think before we’ll be ready?”

“Oh, uhm, probably another day or two? But only if you’re up for it. I know you’re not exactly ‘at your best’ at the moment.”

“No, no, it’s fine. I’ve been wallowing long enough I think. Surprised you let me get away with it as long as you did.”

“I wasn’t letting you get away with anything, you ridiculous bookworm, but I _ did _ let you get out of doing any sort of chores so you’re going to have to make up for that _ double_.” He's obviously teasing, but Jon feels another pang of guilt anyway. He brushes it away.

“I better get right to work then,” He shuffles over to the pantry with a few quick steps, Martin’s breathy laughter following him. Opening the cabinet reveals a barren wasteland of shelves. “Where’d all the tea go?”

“Oh, I’ve already had that packed. I just take the sachets out when I make a cup for us.” Martin demonstrates by opening up his rucksack by the bed, revealing a carefully arranged set of supplies, including all the tea in the house at the top.

He doesn’t stop to think before he speaks.

“I love you.”

Martin’s entire face turns the color of cherry wine. Jon’s sure his own is equally as dark in the aftermath but it’s out there now, bolder than ever before. He’s never been the type for confessions but it’s hitting him that there’s never been a more pressing time to be honest. 

Martin clears his throat bravely for the two of them, zipping the bag back up after removing a sachet of ginseng. “Just, keep…reminding me that, when we’re out there. Okay?” 

Jon nods, probably a little too enthusiastically as he closes the empty cabinet back up. “Yes, I- I can do that.”

“Good.”

“Good.”

“Great!”

The awkward air only lasts a few seconds, before Martin starts giggling. It takes even less time for Jon to join in, feeling like a pair of teenagers caught snogging in the driveway by their parents after a date. 

The rest of the day is like a breath of air after a year inside a casket. Jon helps pack up the rest of what Martin wants to bring, and sets about getting his own luggage in order for the trip. There’s no telling how long it will take them to reach their destinations, but he makes sure to fit as many tapes as he can into his bag. The recorders will appear on their own, but just in case he takes the one Martin kept on him what feels like a lifetime ago.

That night, curled in as close to each other as possible, they talk for what feels like hours. Plans and nixed ideas and promises to watch out for the other, as well as their friends. They’ve been through worse, surely they have. This is just...a bigger tent, but the players and the actors are all the same. They can do this. In between stolen kisses, they fall asleep, not restful by any means but certainly better than it has been. Jon’s shirt is still crumpled by morning, but so is Martin’s.

In the morning -- or ‘morning’ according to Martin, anyway -- it only takes them a short while to get cleaned and dressed, and double check that they have everything before they leave.

Jon hikes his bag further up onto his shoulders, making sure the straps are secure before turning to his boyfriend with one last sweep of his eyes around the place they’d been calling home. 

“It’s going to be a long journey,” he sighs, letting the sadness get to him a little. He runs his hand over the table top where they shared their first kiss. “I’m going to miss the memories we made here.”

“It’s alright.” Martin’s hand comes up to take his, and then brings it swiftly to his lips to place a kiss on the fourth finger. When he pulls back, he’s still holding Jon’s hand, grip sure and steady like a lighthouse. “We’ll make more.”

Jon smiles, a real smile this time. He winds their fingers together, until it feels like a knot tying them to each other. 

“Yes. Shall we then?” 

They step out onto the porch, into the swirling grey mist and the distant crashing of the waves. The closing of the door behind them echoes softly.

**Author's Note:**

> if season five doesn't end with jolias' ass getting kicked we riot


End file.
